


Why Can't I Find You?

by Lightshade



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Emotional Soulmates, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Slash, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 12:45:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13190376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightshade/pseuds/Lightshade
Summary: Heahmund thought for a long time he didn't have a soulmate. Ivar always knew he had one. But with an ocean in between them, how are they ever going to find each other?





	1. Chapter 1

The man gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every animal of the field; but for the man there was not found a helper as his partner. So the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and he slept; then he took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. And the rib that the LORD God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man. He could feel all that she felt and knew that this was the other half of his soul that he had been waiting for. And thus the first soulmate was born. ~Genesis 2: 20-22

While walking along the sea shore the sons of Bor found two trees, and from them they created a man and a woman. Odin gave the man and the woman spirit and life. Vili gave them understanding and the power of movement. Vé gave them clothing and names. The man was named Ask and the woman Embla. Together, their souls were one, and they could feel each other no matter how far one went from the other. From Ask and Embla have sprung the races of men who lived in Midgard. ~The Prose Edda

Heahmund grows up knowing he is different. Everyone else around him feels a warmth in their soul, the feelings of the person they are meant to be with forever. He feels…nothing. Where there should be something is just an empty void. His mother and father try to console him, telling him that many people don’t have their soulmate born right at the same time. Sometimes, it takes a few years. He tries to be patient, he really does. Maybe if he puts his faith in God, he will find the one he’s meant to be with. But as the years pass and Heahmund ages from a boy into a young man, he knows that there is no one out there waiting for him. Maybe his soulmate died before he was born or maybe it was never meant to be. Either way, the hole in his heart isn’t filled.

He finds solace in his God, for he knows that the Almighty will never desert him. The good book says that God is the greatest soulmate of all. Heahmund clings to this more and more as he grows. When he’s fifteen, he hesitantly tells his parents that he’s entering the seminary. He sees the look that passes between them, something that’s a combination of relief at knowing he’s found his place and pity at knowing their son will never find true happiness.

The others at the seminary are there for various reasons. Many, like him, have no one waiting for them. Others, and this he’s thankful that at least he’s never had to experience, have had their soulmates die. As the years pass, he finds solace in three things: prayer, contemplation, and the sword. When all else fails and his anger rises, he takes up his sword, and goes to practice. The weapon is one of the only things he feels he’s good at, for it’s like an extension of his body when he uses it. It helps control his anger and wield in that part of him that still feels untamed sometimes.

Then when he’s twenty, everything changes. He’s in the middle of vespers when he feels a burning sensation in his chest. At first, he mistakes it for some form of attack, his heart shutting down. It’s painful at first as if a brand has been seared inside his soul. He collapses and the other priests take him to the infirmary. He lies there for hours, wondering if he’s going to die. Then the pain disappears, leaving warmth in his soul where there had only been darkness before. There’s emotions there, small and confused, but present nonetheless. He realizes that his soulmate has finally been born. Heahmund doesn’t stop smiling for three days.

He doesn’t leave the priesthood. There’s several like him, those waiting for their soulmates while serving God at the same time. It doesn’t diminish his worth in God’s eyes or those of his fellow priests. He tries not to think about how he’ll be a middle-aged man before the man (and somehow he knows instinctively it’s a man and not a woman) he’s meant to be with is even going to be old enough to be _called_ a man. They won’t have as much time together as he would like, but he’ll make every moment count.

It’s several months before Heahmund realizes there’s something very wrong. A newborn child should feel happy, secure, and loved. While his soulmate does feel that, there’s also something else that’s felt intensely: pain. Sometimes it’s lessened and sometimes it’s worse, but his poor soulmate appears to be in a constant state of pain. Heahmund can’t figure it out and so turns to his superior for guidance. “Something is very wrong. He’s in such intense pain all the time. I…what can I do?” Heahmund hates the vulnerable hitch in his voice, how it betrays how much he already cares about this small child that he’s never even met before.

The old bishop seems to understand, wise eyes compassionate as he lays a hand upon Heahmund’s shoulder. “God does not give us burdens we are not able to shoulder. You must be a source of strength for him, give him something to fall back on. And remember that all of us are created in God’s image. No matter if he is deformed in any way, you must feel love for him always and no matter what.”

Heahmund takes the words to heart, trying to provide a solid rock for his soulmate when he’s tormented. Its agony sometimes to feel such an intense emotional state, but Heahmund endures. As the years slowly pass, he finds the child’s pain slowly changing. It doesn’t disappear, but as he seems to grow used to it, the emotion gets pushed more to the back of his mind. It’s a relief for the priest, for even he has his limits when it comes to his great strength.

When he’s not worrying over his soulmate’s state of being, he likes to imagine where he is, what he’s doing, and what he looks like. He feels a little silly doing it, like some lovestruck child, but it’s something he never had the chance to do in his own youth. He gets the distinct feeling the one he’s meant to be with is far away, perhaps not even in England at all. Though it is a selfish prayer, and he knows he shouldn’t ask for it, he prays for God to send his soulmate to him as soon as he can. Heahmund is trying to be patient. But he’s also been alone for so long.

 

Ivar has never known what it’s like to be without a soulmate. There’s a constant warmth there, a solid presence that he knows means someone is out there just for him. Whoever it is feels wise and patient, someone that puts forth strength whenever Ivar starts to feel like things seem hopeless being a cripple. He can’t be certain, but he thinks that his soulmate is older.

He’s there when Ivar kills another child as a young boy, shocked and terrified until a blanket of soothing energy is pushed towards him, calming him down as if he was right there beside him. He’s there whenever Sigurd teases him about being a pitiful nothing, as if he’s right there to dry the tears Ivar cries in private. The pain in his legs is great, yet when it feels like too much, he has something he can fall back on, the patient and seemingly endless strength that his soulmate has for him.

While he hates the stares he gets when he crawls around Kattegat, he spends a great deal of time by the docks, watching the travelers come to and fro in their boats. He knows his soulmate is very far away, yet he holds onto hope he may someday travel to the kingdom in Norway. He never sees him, but at least it’s a way to pass the day besides training with his weapons.

It’s one of the only things Ivar is good at, being able to throw an axe or swing a sword. Despite his useless legs, he works twice as hard as his brothers to be the best he can be with his weapons. He doesn’t have any friends to distract him from his training, but he never feels alone. There’s someone out there meant for him. He just hopes he’s enough for the man, even with his crippled legs.

As he grows older and angrier, he tries not to project the cracks that are appearing in his mind. Yet somehow his soulmate seems to know, doing the best he can to heal the fractures that keep growing greater. His control has never been great and there are times he thinks he’s going to snap completely. It’s moments like this the man whose mind he’s connected to seems to lend him some of his patience. He can wait, to be a real Viking, to meet his soulmate, whatever the gods throw his way.

When Ragnar asks Ivar to come along to England, he jumps at the chance. As they get closer and closer to the country, he can feel the emotions he’s felt his entire life grow stronger and more intense. He keeps quiet about what he’s feeling until it’s only he and his father left. “I think my soulmate is here. Somewhere in England.” Ivar should feel a sense of disgust or despair at knowing he’s meant to be with an Englishman. All he can feel is relief that he’s finally so close.

Ragnar seems to understand. It was said that the great Ragnar Lothbrok had several soulmates over the course of his life. Ivar wasn’t sure if that was true or not. In any case, his father just places a hand on his head, ruffling his hair in an affectionate manner. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll find him while we’re here.”

Then everything falls to pieces as he’s forced to leave his father behind to die. As if that wasn’t agonizing enough, he feels like he’s being ripped in two as he boards the boat to Kattegat. He was so close to finding his soulmate and yet now he’s lost his chance. He spends the whole voyage miserable and seasick. The clear despair he’s feeling through their link tells him his poor soulmate is feeling the same way.

 

Bishop Heahmund feels a tugging day by day as his soulmate’s emotions become clearer. Wherever he’s been all this time, he’s finally in England! He leaves the town he’s in immediately and works his horse into a lather as he tries to pinpoint exactly where these feelings are coming from. They get stronger the closer he gets south and he tries to contain his excitement. His soulmate is sixteen now and Heahmund is so eager to finally meet him after all these years.

Then the feelings stop drawing him in and start to fade back to their usual murmur. He’s so stunned he almost refuses to believe that his soulmate is leaving England before they’ve even met. “No!” He wants to tell him. “Don’t go, not when we’re both so close!” But he’s gone, back to wherever he’d come from, and the bishop feels more alone than he ever did as a child with an empty void in his heart.

For the first time ever, he curses at God, getting drunk on a lot of cheap wine. Why would he bring them so close together only to draw them apart again? Is Heahmund being punished for his sins? Has God decided he is unworthy of happiness? When he sobers up the next morning, he realizes how close he was to blasphemy, and flagellates himself for penance. He tries to remember the Lord has a plan for both of them. He has to believe they’ll meet when the time is right.

The second time Ivar comes to England, he knows that he can’t afford to be distracted. Revenge must come first even before his own happiness. He does give his soulmate the gift of feeling his great satisfaction at seeing two kings dead through his actions. Ivar can feel the excitement coming from his soulmate’s end. They’re both so close now and Ivar will burn down all of England if he can find the man he’s supposed to be with.

Taking over York gives him a permanent base to work out of. If he stays here, his soulmate is bound to be drawn to him, the way he was last time. So Ivar patiently waits out the weeks as the English army camps on his doorstep. He does have some trepidation that his soulmate might be a soldier. What if he gets killed in battle? No, Ivar refuses to believe he’s destined to be with anyone but a warrior at least as good as he is.

 

Heahmund arrives in the English camp feeling most distracted. It’s been almost two years since he last felt his soulmate in England, and now he’s very close again, he can feel it. The now eighteen year old has been having bursts of satisfaction, happiness, and even glee, things that have always been rare up until now. Just what is he doing here? As he speaks with the king about strategy, he glances at the walls where the heathen army is entrenched. He can feel the pull so strongly now and he feels a cold pit in his stomach as he realizes that his soulmate is likely a Norseman. 

Why would God give him a heathen barbarian as a soulmate? He recalls the old bishop, now dead these long years, that he must feel love for his soulmate no matter what. He shall turn him from his savage ways and show him the true God. He just prays the Norseman is strong and clever enough to survive the upcoming battle.

 

The battle rages fiercely around both of them. Their feelings are nearly intertwined now in the heat of fighting for their lives, killing the enemy, and generally trying to survive. The rain makes it hard to see anything and both hope their next blow doesn’t end the life of the one they’re meant to be with. 

Then the battle seems to come to a halt as Ivar is knocked from his chariot. Heahmund squints through the droplets, trying to get a good look at the young barbarian, the one who has no fear despite being a cripple. Ivar sees a tall figure fighting bravely with neither shield nor helmet as the arrows rain down around him. He cuts down the men around him like a scythe going through wheat. Heahmund turns and points his sword, finally able to look this Viking warrior in the face.

Their eyes lock and they can feel something snap into place inside of them. Both of them think the same thing at the same time. “Oh no.” Then the same thing again. _“Yes.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I had to do this because there is a shocking lack of Ivar/Heahmund fic in this fandom! And it's very clear Ivar has a crush on him, he pretty much hauled him all the way back to Norway and wanted him to fight for him because he's attracted to Heahmund. Just look at his face whenever Heahmund kills anyone. Can't wait to see where this relationship goes throughout the season.
> 
> Also, apologies if the first bit of this fic sounds a little too much like imprinting from Twilight. I tried to make the age gap work realistically for a soulmate fic without it getting creepy.


	2. Chapter 2

Ivar lies there on a bed of furs, unable to sleep. He’s barely eaten anything all day, but he hasn’t really felt hungry. He knows what the problem is. He’s heartsick with misery. Ever since he laid eyes on the warrior bishop during the battle, part of him has been longing to see him again. Finally seeing his soulmate has strengthened their bond immensely and he can feel every little nuance of Heahmund’s emotions. While he does feel the conflict and confusion in the bishop, he’s relieved to find no disgust or rejection from the man, as he’d always feared might happen when his soulmate realized he’d been paired up with a cripple. He does take solace in that at least the gods have given him a fearless, skillful warrior as a soulmate. Bishop Heahmund’s reputation precedes him. It was said like would always find like.

His mind keeps turning things over in his head. What is he going to do about this? He needs a plan of action. He can cope with the fact his soulmate is a Christian priest. That can be worked around. The real trouble here is that eventually they’ll be torn apart again. Ivar doesn’t plan to stay in England forever and he knows Heahmund will likely never want to leave. There’s only one thing to do then. He’ll have to _force_ Heahmund to come with him. After all, it’s not really kidnapping someone if they belong together, right?

Finally satisfied that he has a course of action, Ivar blows out the candle in his room, turns over, and begins to fall asleep. Through their bond, he can feel Heahmund’s emotions, and knows his soulmate is still awake, likely facing the exact same problem he has been turning over in his head. He’s so close and Ivar can almost feel his presence beside him. With a wicked smirk, he sends a wave of longing towards his soulmate, tantalizing him to come find Ivar. He can feel the instant response, that almost instinctual complicated emotional state that reassures Ivar, no matter what, they’ll be together.

Heahmund lies in his tent and he knows that Ivar isn’t sleeping either. Out of everyone in the world, he didn’t get paired up with just a heathen barbarian, but the very leader of the Great Heathen Army. Everyone in England has likely heard of Ivar The Boneless, the Viking known for his brutality and cruelty. He figures this is proof God has a terrible sense of humor. 

But what did he think was going to happen? He’d find his soulmate and they’d just live happily ever after? Well, if he’s being honest with himself, there was a small part of him that was hoping it would be just as simple as that. After a lifetime of waiting, couldn’t he have been given something that wasn’t complicated? Apparently not.

How are they ever going to be together when they’re complete opposites in everything in their lives? It’s a problem that Heahmund can see no good solution to. How is he ever going to turn a savage heathen from his ways and towards the true God?

Through their link, he feels Ivar’s confusion resolve itself into something more solid. Clearly, at least one of them knows what they’re going to do. “What are you up to now?” He murmurs to himself. Of course, their bond only provides emotions, not actual thoughts. He sees Ivar has a sense of humor as he feels a wave of longing hit him as if the barbarian is trying to seduce him, providing him with motivation to come to him. Much as he wants to resist, Heahmund can’t help but send back reassurance instead. After a lifetime apart, he’ll be damned if they don’t eventually end up together.

As the months pass and the siege to starve the Vikings out commences, the two of them seem to be trying to use their link to gain the upper hand over the other’s enemies. Ivar seems to be better at hiding his emotional state than Heahmund is, and most of the time, Heahmund can only get a muted idea of what his soulmate is feeling. Curiously, the strain of being starved out doesn’t seem to be weighing all that heavily on him.

When the Vikings seem to leave, Heahmund knows it’s a lie. Ivar’s feelings are just as strong as they’ve always been and he feels none of that fading that he did the last time Ivar left England.

“They haven’t abandoned York. They’re still here,” he argues with the king.

“And just how do you know this?” Aethelwulf challenges him.

“I just know,” Heahmund says feebly, unwilling to reveal his soulmate is a Norseman. He probes at Ivar’s feelings, trying to get him to reveal something that will solve this problem.

All he can get is a waiting sense of smug anticipation and he knows there’s going to be an attack. What he never expects is for the Norsemen to have been underground this whole time. He curses himself for a fool for not being able to see it sooner. All he can do is fight back with all his strength, the connection his soulmate showing both of them experiencing an adrenaline high from the killing.

He senses the moment Ivar is watching him from high above. When his horse is felled beneath him and he falls to the ground, there’s a moment where they each feel the other’s intense state. For Ivar, it’s a jolt of pain, and for Heahmund, it’s a sense of alarm. So, apparently the Viking does care if he lives or dies.

Ivar orders his men to give his horse to Heahmund. What he says is true, he does admire the bishop’s skills as a warrior, but he also doesn’t want his soulmate to die in the thick of battle. This is the moment he’s been waiting for, the chance he has to bring his soulmate to him. He keeps watching, praying to the gods to keep Heahmund from falling in battle. Better than that, he’s captured.

Ivar can see the furious look in his eyes as he limps over to his soulmate, holding a sword to his throat. They might be destined to be together, but neither one can forget they’re on opposite sides of a war, as proven when the bishop yells out the word, “HEATHEN!”

Ivar snickers and responds with contempt, “Christian.”

It’s easy enough when he’s the leader of the army to convince them to keep his prisoner alive. Heahmund is beaten and bloodied, but he’s far from having his spirit broken. He does wonder precisely what his fate is to be. Better than anyone, he knows the instability of Ivar’s mind. Will his hatred for Christians overcome the longing both of them have felt their entire lives?

He’s chained up like a dog and left to cool his heels. He can feel the intense pleasure Ivar is experiencing after routing the English yet again. Petty as it is, Heahmund does the best he can to interrupt it with his own negative emotional state. He knows sooner or later Ivar will come to see him. Part of him is dreading the experience, and yet part of him intensely wants to see his soulmate again. He’s been alone long enough.

When he finally arrives, the two of them stare at each other for a long minute. It appears neither one of them know what to say now that they’re finally together. When Ivar finally speaks, his accent running over the words of Old English, he looks pleased, like everything he’s wanted has finally fallen into place. “It took long enough to find you.”

Heahmund agrees. They couldn’t have been one of those pairs that grew up in the same village not more than three huts from each other. No, the Lord had seen fit to put his soulmate across the ocean, and separate them for eighteen years. “But I’m here now.”

“Yes and fighting for the wrong side,” Ivar says, sardonic note in his voice.

“The Lord has set me on the righteous path,” the bishop says. “He sets me in front of my enemies so that I might cleanse the earth of them.”

Ivar looks less than impressed by that statement and crawls towards him. “If your Lord wanted you to continue to fight, he wouldn’t have allowed you to get captured by me. Or maybe he wanted this for you.”

“He works in mys--” Ivar kisses him then. For a moment, everything seems to fit together with a startling amount of clarity. It’s like both their souls are one at that moment. Heahmund has been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Then reality comes crashing back down as he realizes he’s kissing the enemy leader who has captured him. His chained hands come up, slowly so as not to make any noise, and Ivar doesn’t seem to notice a thing until they crash back down. He’s stunned laying on the ground and Heahmund pins him there with his own body.

Heahmund pushes the chain across Ivar’s neck, and while the usual bloodlust rises in him, he wonders if he’ll have the strength to actually go through with killing the man he’s meant to be with. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how he looks at it, he doesn’t have to wonder. Ivar’s quick to pull out a knife and holds it up to Heahmund’s throat, the steel edge resting right up against his skin. There’s a tense standoff before the bishop relents, pulling his chained hands away, and getting up off Ivar.

Strangely enough, there’s an almost manic light in Ivar’s eyes, something that Heahmund had seen on the battlefield. It appears his soulmate is aroused by violence. Though he’s loathing to admit it, Heahmund too feels that strange intertwining where battle and sex meet. Ivar crawls towards the door, but he turns his head to make one final comment towards the bishop. “Think on this, priest. Are you really willing to go the rest of your life without me?”

There’s no good answer that the Lord will provide him to that question. Heahmund already knows this.

 

Ivar can feel Heahmund’s discomfort. It’s not hard to wonder why. He’s chained up in a cell and sleeping on a freezing cold floor, surrounded on all sides by people he hates. Ivar tries to ignore it, but after a certain point, he gets up with a sigh. He’s not sleeping tonight unless the bishop does.

Putting his braces on, he gathers up a bundle of furs in one hand, grasps his crutch in the other, and slowly limps his way over to the cell where his prisoner is being kept.

Heahmund has his back to him as he enters, curled up into a ball, shivering slightly. Despite hating weakness, whether in himself or others, Ivar can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy. If only he could just keep him in his quarters instead, but that would cause too many questions among his army. Most of them wouldn’t be thrilled that their leader’s soulmate is a Christian warrior bishop who has slaughtered dozens of Vikings.

He finally looks up as Ivar drops one of the furs over him. He doesn’t thank him, merely narrowing his eyes with suspicion. “What is this?”

“You’re keeping me awake,” Ivar says, stiffly sitting down as he removes the braces on his legs, plunking down the other bundle of fur by his head.

“Well, you’ve solved the problem. Now leave,” Heahmund says, rolling back over. He shuts his eyes, but opens them back up again as he feels Ivar sliding under the fur next to him. He half-sits back up. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not walking all the way back. It’s too far when I’m this tired,” Ivar says drowsily.

Heahmund considers the merits of using his chains to strangle the Viking again, dismissing the idea as soon as it comes to him. No matter that he’s the enemy; he’s still the man Heahmund is destined to be with. With a sound half-groan and half-sigh, he lies back down. Even if he is less than a foot away, he doesn’t have to touch Ivar, no matter that every fiber of his being wants to. He prays for strength of will.

At some point in the night, he feels Ivar press himself up against him, and the barely conscious part of his mind leans his back into the solid presence of Ivar’s chest, sighing with contentment as Ivar wraps his arms around him. It’s the best night’s sleep he’s had in ages. Around dawn, he feels Ivar slide back out, get up, and limp away. Though his body is warm underneath the fur, he feels a coldness enter his soul at the lack of Ivar’s touch.

He waits for Ivar to come back the next day, but he doesn’t see the Viking at all. A greater portion of him than he’s willing to admit is disappointed by this and he knows Ivar can feel that. Strange as it seems, he’s beginning to get used to the Viking and the often philosophical discussions they end up having. It makes the day quite dull to be left alone.

It’s only when night falls that Ivar finally comes. He takes up his usual spot along the wall and watches Heahmund. “Why’d you show me kindness last night?” He asks.

Ivar shrug. “Do you think I want to see you suffer?”

“I know how cruel you can be,” Heahmund tells him.

“But not towards you,” Ivar says.

Heahmund’s temper rises. “You don’t call imprisoning and chaining me up cruel?”

Ivar looks down and a childish tone that could almost be called sulky enters his voice. “I don’t want you to leave.” Heahmund’s reminded that he’s little more than a boy, a child unstable, lonely, and unfortunately with all the power of an army at his beck and call. There’s no chance of being able to reason with him. But he’ll try anyway.

“You can’t think keeping me here will make either of us happy.”

“And if I let you go, what then, hmm?” Ivar says. “Would you stay here with me willingly?” Heahmund is the one to look down now. “No, I don’t think so. You’d be going back to your king so fast I wouldn’t even see you leave.” Ivar crawls close to him. It’s all Heahmund can do not to reach up one of his chained hands and run it over his soulmate’s face. “So you’ll be staying here for the time being.”

“Just tell me--” But before he can finish, Ivar is kissing him. Perhaps it’s just because of the days of captivity and boredom, but Heahmund doesn’t resist this time. His chained hands come up, resting on Ivar’s shoulders as he leans into him. Beyond the fact they’re enemies, that they’re different in every way that counts, this just feels right, two souls that are destined to be together finally intertwining.

Ivar pushes Heahmund down, hands running down Heahmund’s still-clothed body. He does as much as he can in return with the limited movements made by the chains around his wrists. Things go slow as they explore each other, but before things can go too far, Ivar is pulling away. Heahmund’s not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. They lie back down on the furs.

Ivar collapses on top of Heahmund with a sigh, using his chest as a pillow as Heahmund loops his chained arms around his soulmate. He should feel a lot more conflicted about this than he does. But his will is slowly being worn away. Maybe this is the path that will lead him to Hell. But Heahmund find he doesn’t care. God has finally sent him the one he’s meant to be with. This is all he’s ever wanted.

“Are you done feeling guilty?” Ivar asks, head turned to the side as he lies there on Heahmund’s chest.

“What?” He asks.

“You don’t feel as conflicted as you have been,” Ivar says. Of course he’d know, they’ve felt everything going on with each other for weeks now. Heahmund doesn’t answer him, just pulls the Viking close, and lets his eyes close. He’s dreamed many times about falling asleep with his soulmate in his arms. The reality is much better than he ever dreamed it would be.

They make it something of a routine, Ivar coming in around dusk. They talk of things, sometimes their religions or fights they’ve been in, sometimes of their lives before they met. “You always seemed to have such moments of sadness as a child,” Heahmund remarks one day.

“Do you really have to ask why?” Ivar replies.

Heahmund doesn’t have to guess. Being a cripple couldn’t have been easy on Ivar. Among his people, he must have been seen as close to nothing. Heahmund’s also seen Ivar’s brothers and knows there must have been some conflict there too.

“Were you ever lonely?” He asks.

“Not really. I always had you to turn to,” Ivar says and there’s a tenderness in his voice Heahmund never would have guessed that a heathen barbarian could possess.

What is left untouched in their conversations is the obvious fact that Heahmund is still a prisoner and that eventually Ivar is going to have to do something with him. Eventually, when it gets late, Ivar always joins him under the furs, and they fall asleep together. Things are being taken slow between them, but neither one of them seems to have gotten the fortitude to go further than they already have.

That isn’t to say all things are completely rosy between them. There’s a conversation one day where Heahmund is busy quoting scripture. Much as he hates to admit it, Ivar is probably the only one that actually pays attention when he starts his religious rambling. His soulmate seems to enjoy the sound of his voice. Talk turns to religion and Heahmund eventually snaps at him when Ivar dismisses the slaughter of the innocent as being next to nothing. He’s determined to convert Ivar, but it doesn’t seem like it’s going to an easy task. Pushing a boulder uphill might get better results.

Ivar eventually gives him an up-and-down look and a smirk that tells Heahmund he’s thinking about something at the end of their conversation. He can feel through their link Ivar’s emotions resolving into a decision, though about what, Heahmund couldn’t say. “You are coming on a journey with us.”

“I am already on a journey,” he calls after the crawling Viking.

All he gets in response is Ivar telling him, “Aren’t we all” before he crawls out of the room. Heahmund knows he’s up to something. He just has no idea what.

The next day Heahmund is roughly jolted awake by two burly Vikings. They don’t answer any questions when he asks where they’re taking him. He has an inkling of what’s going on and it’s confirmed when he’s led to one of the Viking longships. He feels a sinking sensation as he realizes that they’re leaving England and taking him with them.

They plunk him down in the middle of the boat, right up against the mast, and he watches as the boats are filled with supplies and people. Ivar gets onboard and Heahmund shoots him an accusing look, letting the resentment he feels crackles across their link. Ivar simply shrugs and Heahmund is forcibly reminded that his soulmate is a selfish brat who is taking him from his home.

He watches as England recedes in the distance until it becomes just a tiny blur. He blinks and it’s gone. Heahmund prays to his Lord as the boat rocks back and forth. 

He’s torn. Part of him wants to jump out of the boat and return to the land of his birth, all he’s ever known. His thoughts are interrupted as Ivar stares at him. “So is this an interruption of your journey…or a part of it? What do you think?” Heahmund has no good answers. But despite his resentment at being taken away, when he looks at Ivar, he stays put, knowing he’s right where he should be. No matter what comes next, he knows he’s never going to be strong enough to leave his soulmate now that he’s found him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all (or most of you, anyway) asked for it and I'm happy to finally deliver! Here's the next chapter! I've tried to stick as close to canon as I can, explaining the events from the POV of a soulmate AU. Also, isn't Stockholm syndrome just a wonderful thing? Hope you all enjoy it!


	3. Chapter 3

They reach a kingdom in Norway and Heahmund wonders what’s going to happen to him next. Ivar’s brought him this far, but is this where the young barbarian’s master plan ends? Heahmund doubts it. He knows how clever his soulmate is. He’s already thinking five steps ahead of everyone else. He hopes at one point those steps will involve a plan to get him out of the chains he’s in. It’s quite tiresome to have them on all the time.

The first order of business is to see this King Harald that has been mentioned a few times. Heahmund, of course, gets dragged along to see him. He sees how easily Ivar lies about the real reason he’s keeping the bishop alive and is impressed by it. If he didn’t know the truth, he never would have guessed that Ivar wasn’t being honest

Of course, Ivar doesn’t seem too happy with Heahmund’s inability to shut up. He finds his hair being yanked back and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit a small thrill rushes through his system at the rough treatment, which he knows Ivar will feel through their link. They’ll both remember that later on.

Ivar sticks his soulmate in another cell, chained, and left to his boredom. What he’s doing is now thinking up a way to keep him alive. Harald has no use or love for Christians, but he knows that like all Vikings, he is impressed with great warriors. If he can convince Heahmund to fight for them, or rather fight for _him_ , he’ll be able to kill two birds with one stone by keeping his soulmate alive and close to him as well as keeping him from being killed. He goes into try and convince Heahmund to fight for him. 

For all that Heahmund wants to be with Ivar, he can’t forget that his vows first belong to the church as a warrior. Still, Ivar’s words about killing more heathens do resonate with him. Even more than that, watching Ivar open up to him, and be honest proves to Heahmund that he’s right where he should be. Ivar needs him as much as he needs Ivar.

The next day comes and Heahmund is going to be forced to make a decision. He’s dragged out in front of all the Norsemen and in front of Ivar. He presses a knife to his chest, threatening to kill him if he doesn’t make a decision. Ivar’s hard, icy eyes bore into him. “Nothing is keeping you alive but me.” Well, that much is true enough.

Ivar looks into Heahmund’s eyes and something passes between them. He can almost tell what his soulmate is thinking and so he gives him the knife when asked. Ivar watches carefully to see what he will do next. He can feel that vicious brutality when the bishop stabs the man up through his jaw and into his head. Heahmund simultaneously feels something fierce and passionate from Ivar. If the boy wasn’t already in love with him before, he just fell hard and fast.

He drops the knife and turns back towards Ivar, who is clapping in a rather entertained fashion. “I think he will fight for us!” Heahmund’s beginning to wonder if either of them is entirely sane. But what does it matter when they’re clearly so perfectly matched?

 

The chains finally come off and Heahmund is free to do as he pleases so long as he doesn’t try to escape. But with Ivar here, where would he try to go? He avoids Ivar for most of the day, trying to center himself with prayer and contemplation. He needs it now more than ever far from home and surrounded by heathen barbarians. Eventually, as the sun sets and everything around him turns blue and blurry with shadows, he goes to the room where he knows the crippled warrior is staying. He pushes aside the fur curtain and stares at his young soulmate sitting on the bed. As before, it seems they don’t quite know what to say to each other. This time, the emotions crackle across their link, which makes the words seem less necessary.

Heahmund can feel a stirring lower down and tries to tamp it down without success. He’s been with women before, of course, but purely as a matter of course to satisfy his baser urges. Ivar couldn’t have expected him to wait over thirty years, after all. But staring at the heathen, he’s all he wants or needs.

But first he needs a few things answered. “Did you plan everything that happened today? Did you know what I was going to do?”

Ivar shrugs as he takes off one of his braces. “How else was I going to make it safe for you to be here? I knew you weren’t going to kill yourself. Your ego wouldn’t let you. And I had a good idea of what else you were going to do.”

That gets a small twitch of the lips from Heahmund, something that could almost be called a smile. He sits down next to Ivar and reaches down to help him with the other brace. When his fingers brush Ivar’s leg as he undoes one of the straps, he feels something from Ivar’s end. It’s a combination of nervousness, shame, and distress, though he’s doing his utter best not to show any of it on his face. Heahmund looks up at him, letting reassurance pour from his end. “Do you really think I care about that?”

Ivar shrugs again, unwilling to meet his eyes. Heahmund knows he can’t undo a lifetime of conditioned thinking, how Ivar has been taught to be ashamed of his useless legs. But he can do his best to help lessen the thoughts. He leans over and brushes his lips across Ivar’s, resting his forehead against his. “I always knew you’d be different. But the Lord said He loves with an everlasting love and that it should extend to those our souls are bound to. I don’t care that you’re a cripple, and if I have to spend the rest of my life proving that to you, I will.”

Ivar pulls away, but Heahmund senses this isn’t a retreat, more like that he needs time to contemplate what he’s just been told. Ivar likes to work things out in his head, figuring them out by turning them over, pulling them apart, and then putting them back together. He stares into Heahmund’s blue eyes as if searching for a lie. He finds none. “It truly doesn’t matter to you?”

Heahmund kisses him softly again. “Not in the slightest.” He feels something shift inside Ivar that has been guarded up until now. It’s a level of trust he gives no one else. He kisses Heahmund back, and this time when he slips his hand under Heahmund’s shirt, there’s no hesitation as he pulls it over the man’s head.

There’s eighteen years of pent-up desire on both sides now and it comes out full force. Ivar runs his mouth over the hard planes of Heahmund’s chest, biting down with his teeth, and then soothing the skin with his tongue. Heahmund can already feel himself getting hard just from the simple actions.

He pulls Ivar’s shirt off and he’s thanking God Almighty for giving him a soulmate with such a body as his. His upper body is amazingly built from a lifetime of using just his arms to move around. He goes to undo Ivar’s pants, but he feels an unusual spike of what feels like panic in between the lust and passion as he does so. It’s enough to make him pause until Ivar finally looks up at him. “What is it?”

But Ivar refuses to answer him this time no matter what. He finally leans forward, kissing Ivar on the lips, and then moving his way down to his jaw, before burying his nose in the side of Ivar’s neck. The panic seems to be beginning to fade and once again he reaches for Ivar’s pants. This time, Ivar allows him to undo them with a small bit of reluctance. He feels another spike and this one puzzingly enough feels like surprise, though he can’t imagine why. Ivar isn’t quite as hard as he is yet, but he knows sometimes these things take time. He’s never asked, but he feels Ivar probably hasn’t had enough experience as himself.

Finally, the layers are shed between them. There’s a small, playful struggle for who will be on top, but with Ivar’s legs the way they are, it’s best for him to be beneath Heahmund, at least for their first time together. He lies back down and reaches for something beneath the pillow. It’s a small bottle of oil which he passes over to Heahmund. Clearly, he’s been hoping that this moment would come for quite some time now.

Heahmund slicks his dick and fingers up. For his entire prowess with women, he’s never slept with another man before. He meets Ivar’s eyes and a small shared moment of nervousness passes between their link. With both of them feeling it, that helps break the tension. They keep going forward and what happens next has them both thanking their respective gods for finally sending the other their soulmate after being so long apart.

 

As they lie there afterwards, basking in the glow of the moment, Heahmund holds Ivar close as they lie on their sides. The scratch marks Ivar left on his back sting a little whenever the cold air reaches them. There had been one or two awkward parts, but overall, it had been good. Really good, the best either of them had ever had. They just fit together so well as every tale of soulmates finally meeting has said. Heahmund knows there will never be another quick moment with a woman to satisfy his lust. Ivar’s ruined him forever. He’s all he wants now. 

“Where did this come from?” He runs his fingers lightly over the tattoo on Ivar’s back.

“After we took York. It was the first victory I achieved on my own, so I decided to mark the occasion,” Ivar says, little shivers going down his spine every time he feels Heahmund’s fingertips. Will he ever grow tired of his touch? He doesn’t think so.

“What does it mean?” He asks, his fingers coming to rest on a snarling wolf’s head, one of two facing each other.

“It is Skoll and Hati, the wolves who will devour the sun and the moon during Ragnarok. It represents how I will devour all the enemies the gods put before me,” Ivar says.

“Ragnarok?” Heahmund questions.

“The end of the world,” Ivar says matter-of-factly. “It will come one day.”

Heahmund reminds himself that he really must work harder on converting his soulmate away from this pagan nonsense and towards the one, true God. But he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Though he has noticed a promising sign in that Ivar has a fondness for hearing him quote religious scripture, even if he doesn’t actually believe in them himself. Most likely, he just enjoys hearing Heahmund’s voice, but it’s a first step at least.

Ivar shifts himself so that he can look up at Heahmund, running one hand along the side of his face. Heahmund leans into the touch as Ivar stares into his eyes with unfathomable love in them, something no one else has ever seen. “Your left eye has a little bit of brown in it.”

“You just now noticed that?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Ivar seems to be getting drowsy and snuggles up against Heahmund, laying his head against the priest’s chest, closing his eyes. Heahmund knows he should leave and go find his own quarters for the night. People will talk if anyone finds them in here together. But somehow, he keeps putting it off minute by minute, until his eyes flutter shut. He tenderly pulls the furs up around the two of them, and then he too falls asleep, his arms still wrapped around Ivar.

 

Hvitserk goes into the room, pushing aside the furs without a second thought. “Ivar, are you--” Then he notices his younger brother is not alone in his bed. The bishop is there too and Ivar has his head on his bare chest, fast asleep. No one would ever claim him as being the brains of the army, but even he can see what is going on. Ivar had confided in his brothers growing up that his soulmate was an older man who was far away from Kattegat.

Ivar opens his eyes, stretching out under the furs as he glares at Hvitserk, daring him to say something stupid. All his brother says is, “So _that’s_ why you kept him alive.” Ivar just shrugs. It had been bound to come out sooner or later. “I suggest you get up. King Harald wants a meeting.” Then he leaves.

Heahmund then opens his own eyes, having heard everything. “Do you think he’ll tell anyone?”

“What does it matter? You’ve agreed to stay and fight for us. Being together won’t change anything,” Ivar presses a slow kiss to Heahmund’s lips. “Besides, I’m the leader of the army. I can do whatever I want.” It’s a rather arrogant statement, definitely one that would be made by a teenager, but there is some truth to it. The only one that holds more power than Ivar right now is King Harald. No matter what people think, they’re together, and the Norse people respect the sacred bond of soulmates.

Ivar takes his time getting ready, reluctant to leave the blissful state he’s found himself in while lying next to Heahmund. He puts on his braces and leans over to kiss him. “Find me after the meeting is done.” As he leaves his quarters, he sees an exchange of gold coins between Hvitserk and one of the Vikings that has been with them the whole way to England and back again.

“What was that?” He asks.

“I just won the bet,” Hvitserk replies.

“What bet?” Ivar asks.

“I bet Erik that the two of you were going to sleep with each other before another month was out. He thought you were going to kill each other.” Hvitserk has an infuriating smirk on his face that reminds Ivar of their father. “I won.” The statement makes Ivar shove his brother, but there’s no real heat in the movement. Apparently, finally getting laid has helped get out some of that irritability and anger that has clouded him for so long.

The next couple of days are pure bliss for the pair. No matter how much they’re meant to be together, they still end up debating more often than not over their very different religions and lives. It’s basically a way of flirting considering how emotionally unbalanced they are otherwise. There’s less abrasiveness now and more playfulness beneath the words. Hvitserk seems to approve of the bishop being around if only because it seems to rein in his little brother’s more psychotic tendencies.

They’re playing hfenhatal in the main hall with Hvitserk looking on one day, talking of the battle that they are going to face soon. Heahmund asks if his brothers frighten him. Ivar chuckles, amused. “No.” Then he pauses and goes on. “Maybe Bjorn, just a little. I don’t find him very smart, but he is a great warrior. They call him Bjorn Ironside.”

Heahmund decisively moves another piece, taking one of Ivar’s. The two of them seem to enjoy this, conversing and flirting over a game of strategy. It requires them to think on their feet, one part focused on the game while the other focuses on their words. “And the woman? The one who killed your mother?” 

Ivar’s face hardens and Heahmund feels sorry for anyone standing in the way of his vicious soulmate. “Lagertha.” Heahmund makes a humming sound of agreement. “I’ve sworn to kill her. And she knows that I’ll do it. She just doesn’t know how bad it’s going to be.” Ivar moves another piece and Heahmund notes the fierce look in Ivar’s eyes. This woman will have no chance when Ivar catches up with her.

They speak of where the battle will take place as Heahmund moves another piece. “Maybe you can help me think of a strategy,” Ivar offers. Hvitserk finally looks over at this, perhaps surprised that Ivar would put so much faith in his soulmate. He’s offered few words on their relationship, perhaps just glad that Ivar has begun to calm down some after a lifetime of angry and reckless actions.

That actually gets an amused laugh out of Heahmund. “You would trust me to do that? Even though I don’t care which side wins.” That is true enough on its own. All he cares about is being beside Ivar. While it would benefit Ivar to win, as long as Heahmund is by his side, he could care less about their petty Viking squabbles.

“Ah, but _you_ want to win,” Ivar is quick to point out. “I see that. And I want to be around people who want to win. What they do afterwards, who cares?” He trusts Heahmund enough to be on the field of battle with him.

Heahmund reiterates that he is fighting only because he is certain it’s what God wants him to do. It’s not entirely the truth. He’s fighting because it’s also what Ivar wants. He’s desperate to stay near his soulmate after this long apart. He also wants to make Ivar happy and he knows how much the younger man enjoys watching him on the battlefield. Both of them have that bloodlust which rises up when they’re in the middle of fighting.  
Ivar seems to know this too as he smiles and chuckles quietly to himself.

“Then you believe like us,” Hvitserk finally interjects. Heahmund has notice he tends to be far quieter than his brother, only speaking up when he feels that it is necessary. “That you are fated, huh?”

It is another Norse religious viewpoint that Heahmund is quick to correct. “No. I still believe I have free will. I _choose_ to fight for you.”

Ivar always seems to find his Christian points of view amusing and is quick to point something out. “If you are fated, it doesn’t matter if you choose or not. You simply have the illusion of being free to choose.” 

“I don’t know,” Hvitserk says. The two brothers discuss how Hvitserk has sided with Ivar and whether it was fate or free will that led him to do so. While their relationship seems strained from the outside, Heahmund can feel Ivar’s emotions when he looks at his brother. Love is there, even if he doesn’t know how to outwardly show it. It’s hard for him even to show it to Heahmund except when they’re alone together.

The game continues on. Ivar ends up winning, much to Heahmund’s chagrin. He’ll just have to do better next time.

 

Ivar listens later on that night as Heahmund quotes part of the Book of Revelations. He might not believe any of that Christian nonsense, but he loves to hear the sound of Heahmund’s rumbling voice, full of religious fervor as he prays or makes one of his many religious-themed talks. 

He knows Heahmund is trying his best to find a way to convert him. Ivar knows the attempts will never take, but it’s amusing to see him try nonetheless. Ivar, like his mother, will admit that there is _a_ Christian god, but he will never admit that He is _the_ only God. This alternately seems to frustrate and amuse his soulmate.

The devotion they have to their respective religions actually compliments each other rather than pushing them apart. It was something that had tied them together during their time apart, feeling the way the other felt when worshipping or sacrificing.

Then the priest mentions one puzzling aspect of Christianity that Ivar just can’t wrap his head around. “If she was a virgin, how could she be a mother?”

“It was a miracle,” Heahmund says simply.

“I would say so,” Ivar says with a dubious scoff.

Talk turns to some of the stories of the Norse, which Heahmund doesn’t believe either, but Ivar can see a slight smile on his face as he turns back around to face the window with moonlight streaming in. He’s clearly amused by the tenets of Ivar’s faith, even if he doesn’t believe in them.  
“The moon is a woman. That’s true. But not a woman you can trust.” He can hear Ivar limping up behind him, but he doesn’t turn his head to look. “A devious woman. A woman who drives men insane.” He can feel the cold edge of one of Ivar’s blades against his face. He knows that while the two of them are bound together, Ivar is also unstable and a little insane. It wouldn’t be above him to use a blade on Heahmund to prove a point. “She promises them her love and her favors.” The blade seems to caress Heahmund’s cheek the same way Ivar’s hand would. “But then she changes her mind. Cheats on them. Goes with someone else.” He pauses, letting Heahmund absorb those words. “Do you understand what I’m thinking?”

He does. Ivar is often disappointed by the people around him. Heahmund has felt his emotions every time someone leaves him or betrays him. It hurts each and every time, shattering his trust in people just a little bit more every time. “You’re thinking I can’t be trusted. That my promises are worthless. That I will be as fickle as the moon.”

“In my experience, it happens,” Ivar says with a hard cynicism that seems out of place in one so young.

“But if you kill me now, you deny yourself the pleasure of proving yourself right,” the bishop says, glancing back towards Ivar just a little. 

Their emotions crackle from one to the other and Ivar can feel he is telling the truth. He smiles, but there’s something a little sad in the expression. He finally removes the knife. “Heahmund, I do not want to be right. I want to believe in you. I want to believe, in this world, there is someone who never lies, cheats, or compromises. Who is always…noble.” The amount of faith he’s put in Heahmund is astounding and his soulmate is determined to be worthy of it.

Heahmund turns and looks him in the eyes, letting his emotions pour across their link. He wants so desperately for Ivar to be able to trust him. “I am the one, Ivar. You can believe in me.”

Ivar stares at his lips for a moment and it appears he might kiss Heahmund, lingering on his face like he doesn’t want to leave. But all he says is, “We’ll see” and then turns away. Whatever emotional wounds he possesses after being abandoned and betrayed so many times has left deep scars. Heahmund might not be able to heal them all, but he can do his best and try.

That night, Ivar seems to be having trouble falling asleep. He’s in a lot of pain, having spent too long in his leg braces today. It has put a strain on his bones. He’s doing what he did during the siege, trying to hide his emotions from the man beside him, but it’s a lot harder when he’s right in bed with him. His entire body is tense, curled up in pain.

When he still hasn’t fallen asleep after half an hour, he feels the touch of Heahmund’s hand in his hair. He strokes the long strands back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ivar replies, an automatic response that’s testy and curt.

Heahmund knows better. He continues to stroke his hand through Ivar’s hair in a soothing motion that makes the teen lean back into the touch. “Tell me. You need to learn to trust me.”

Ivar stubbornly remains silent even as he feels Heahmund’s lips brush his temple. Then it appears the bishop changes tactics. “Did I ever tell you that I was convinced I’d never have a soulmate when I was young?”

Ivar wonders where he’s going with this, but decides to humor the man. “No, you haven’t.”

“I know you’ve never felt it, but it’s like having a hole where your heart should be. I would never wish that state of being on anyone. I kept waiting, but nothing was ever there. I joined the priesthood because I was convinced there would be no one in my life. I was twenty years old when I first felt your emotions there in my heart and it was the happiest day of my life.”

Ivar turns his head to look at him. “Really?” He’s never thought of himself as being able to make anyone happy before. It usually seems like all he ever does is push people away or make them miserable.

Heahmund nods. “I knew I’d wait for the rest of my life if I knew I got to spend even a little bit of it with you.” He’d always believed the Almighty would eventually let them meet when the time was right. Much as Ivar has exasperated him and driven him close to insanity over the past few months, he also can’t help but feel content knowing this is the happiest he’s ever been in his life.

Ivar turns to look downwards at his legs. After having something as honest as that given to him, perhaps he doesn’t have to keep everything to himself either. “Sometimes, it’s hard to sleep because of the pain,” he confesses.

Heahmund’s nails scratch Ivar’s scalp in a calming manner. He’s felt Ivar’s pain for years now and is nearly as familiar with it as his soulmate is at experiencing it firsthand. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No. Some days are better than others,” he says. “Every day I don’t break a bone is a good one.”

The way he seems to say that, so simplistically, as if he’s commenting on what he’s thinking about for breakfast the next day, it makes Heahmund’s heart ache. Ivar’s experienced so much in his life already, loss and anger causing him to try and put up a tough shell so he won’t feel anything else that will hurt him. For all that he tries not to feel anything at all, he really feels his emotions far too strongly for someone who wants to feel nothing at all. 

All Heahmund wants to do is make sure that he won’t be another person that ends up disappointing him. At least it seems he is doing well thus far.

Ivar’s eyes close. “Just talk until I can sleep.”

“About what?”

“Anything,” Ivar says.

So Heahmund starts reciting the first thing that comes into his mind, a prayer of cleansing to Saint Michael. It seems appropriate for the moment. He murmurs the prayer in Latin, a language that Ivar doesn’t understand. “Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio; contra nequitiam et diabolic esto…”

While he might not understand the prayer being said for him, Ivar recognizes the religious zealotry behind the words. If anyone has a direct line to their God, it was Heahmund. Such a shame he was a Christian. If only he could turn to the Norse gods, he’d be just about perfect. Eventually, the flow of the words soothes Ivar’s mind, if not his body, and he allows sleep to claim him. He’s been getting much better rest ever since he’d started sleeping with his soulmate.

 

Soon enough, it’s time to prepare for the upcoming battle. Ivar sits in a boat, idly twirling one of his knives around his finger. When he spots Heahmund, he can’t help but antagonize him a little. “Your Grace!” He calls out.

Heahmund crouches beside him, snapping out, “Don’t call me that! You think it’s a joke, but you have no understanding of grace.” Sometimes, he wonders why God gave him such an exasperating soulmate. Really, was it too much not to be driven crazy by Ivar and his mercurial moods on a daily basis? Indeed, he seems to be amused by the rise he was able to get out of his soulmate.

He gets up to move away when Ivar calls him back. “Wait.” Heahmund looks supremely unamused and wonders what new torment this maniac has thought up now. “I have something for you.” To his surprise, Ivar pulls out his sword. He’d thought for certain the Viking prince would keep it. They do so covet their weapons. “This sword only works its magic for its owner. So have it. Take it, it’s yours.” He hands it over. 

Heahmund doesn’t say a word, but he can see the soft, doe-eyed expression in his soulmate’s eyes. Always, Ivar manages to surprise him. It’s clear he’s doing this because he cares about Heahmund. Though he tries not to show it, Ivar can feel the gratitude across their link.

 

The two of them are on the edge of the battlefield just before it is to start. They talk in English so that none of the Norsemen around them will understand them. “I can’t wait!” Heahmund says. It’s been a while since he was in the throes of battle.

“Why, does that beautiful sword of yours thirst for blood?” Ivar teases him.

He pulls it out, running his hand upon the keen edge which has neither chipped or blunted even after the many battles it’s been in. “Perhaps my God intended it to slake its thirst upon pagan blood! …that’s why I’m here; to do the Lord’s bidding.” Though he may be Ivar’s soulmate, he’s still a priest, and will do the Lord’s work on the battlefield today.

“And mine, Bishop Heahmund,” Ivar reminds him. “And mine.” It is true, for Heahmund could care less about pagans killing each other. But with his soulmate here, he shall fight for his side.

Ivar plans with King Harald on their battle strategy. It will keep him separated from Heahmund, but this is war, and that’s a risk he has to take. Nevertheless, he’s uncomfortable sending Heahmund into battle. He wants to be able to keep an eye on him. But Ivar also knows he can’t afford to spare a warrior as great as the bishop on the battlefield. He sends up a silent prayer to the gods to watch over him.

Heahmund’s sword does indeed slake its thirst on the blood of many pagans. There’s a fierce joy at being in the midst of battle and Ivar is comforted by the knowledge he is still alive. As long as their link remains intact, he knows Heahmund is alright. But partially through the battle, he feels an intense stabbing sensation of pain which then fades a little as if its owner has gone unconscious. Heamund has been injured and that worries Ivar quite a bit. His concern only grows when his warriors flee, having lost the battle.

“Where’s Heahmund?” Ivar asks, looking around as anxious thoughts fill his mind.

“Your Christian is dead!” King Harald tells him bluntly.

Ivar knows that’s a lie. He’d feel if Heahmund had fallen in battle, their emotional connection instantly severed. He’s alive. Ivar begins to turn his chariot around. He won’t leave his soulmate on the battlefield, injured and alone. Hvitserk jumps up into his chariot. “Where are you going?”

“I have to go back for him. I can’t leave him there!” A tone of desperation has entered his voice, something never present before.

“Lagertha’s forces are all over the field. You’ll just get yourself killed.” His brother tries to reason with him. Then he lowers his voice so that no one else can hear. “Did you feel him die?”

“No,” Ivar admits. “He’s alive.”

“Then you’ll have a chance to get him back. Just not right now. You won’t do any good if you end up captured or dead.” Ivar feels himself torn in two. He desperately wants to go back for Heahmund, but he knows Hvitserk is right. He has to leave. With one final look behind him at the battlefield, he lashes the reins, and takes off in the chariot.

Heahmund is just barely on the right side of consciousness when he hears someone approaching, likely a Viking coming to finish him off. He groans as he’s turned over, a stabbing pain running up his back. But no. Instead, it appears his Lord has once again saved him, working through the shieldmaiden he can hear speaking, the golden one he’d seen fighting earlier. He’s to be cared for. As he’s dragged off between two Vikings, he slips back into the blackness, his last thoughts of Ivar, feeling the agonized distress his soulmate is experiencing being separated from him. Heahmund can’t muster the strength enough to send back any emotions letting him know he’s alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'd had a few more chapters planned for this story all along, but I was just not motivated enough to finish them. Well, after this week's episode, yep, I definitely got motivated enough to finish them. Damn you, Michael Hirst, this is why we can't have nice things! Anyway, I wanted a better ending for Ivar and Heahmund, so there'll this chapter, one more, and then an epilogue.


End file.
